Just as the early Church fathers (all male) decided several centuries after Jesus Christ no longer walked the earth that you were a heretic if you did not affirm that Jesus had/has two natures (one fully divine, the other fully human) in one body (the one that Jesus lived and died in), so too has Christianity insisted (though not nearly so blatantly) that God-the-Father (designation intended) is simultaneously two cops in one: A Good Cop and A Bad Cop.

Butler tells us that one of today’s saints (a man who lived in an area that, throughout history, has changed hands between France and Germany and even sometimes Italy) was named Bavo. Bavo had apparently led a rather dissipated life until he happened to hear a sermon preached by Amand (who himself was later declared a saint). Bavo was so moved by Amand’s sermon that he came to Amand in tears, seeking to set aside his life of wealthy debauchery and follow the Way of Christ. Amand, referred to by Butler as the holy pastor, found Bavo to be utterly sincere.

Here, however, is where Butler lays bare the God-as-Good Cop/Bad Cop schtick that has plagued Christianity since its inception, and is often expressed by lay people today as “the God of the Old Testament” (i.e., God of Judgment and Righteous Wrath) vs. “the God of the New Testament” (i.e., God of Forgiveness and Love). Not all that ironically, the first historically recorded idea to be branded by Christianity as “heresy” was Marcionism–wherein a man named Marcion stated that Christianity needed to not pretend it was some extension of Judaism but was itself a new religion-in-the-making.

Butler shows this portrayal of God as the two-cop routine in his description of how Amand, the holy pastor, dealt with the newly and sincerely repentant Bavo:

The holy pastor, who saw in his (Bavo’s) unfeigned tears the sincerity of his compunction, was far from flattering him (heaven forfend!) in the beginning of his work, by which his penance would have remained imperfect; and whilst he (Amand) encouraged him by the consideration of the boundless mercy of God, he set before his (Bavo’s) eyes the necessity of appeasing the divine indignation by a course of penance proportioned to the enormity of his offences . . . .

So apparently the boundless mercy actually has bounds! Yes, Bavo, you can enter into the grace of God, but only if you take steps to appease the rightfully pissed-off Deity by making up for your many offenses. Otherwise, the implication being, you may not enjoy that boundless mercy. So don’t feel good about yourself or this change you feel led in your heart to make . . . instead, focus on rooting out the rot that was in your soul before you came to know the True Love of God.

Worth noting is that Amand’s “gospel” flatly contradicts the parable of the Prodigal Son, who–upon his return to his father’s house after squandering his entire inheritance in dissipation–was met with unconditional embrace, welcome, and feasting (see The Gospel According to Luke 15:11-32).

Instead, what we have is God-the-Good-Cop who welcomes you, the sinner. And God-the-Bad-Cop who requires that, in order to be welcomed, you must abase yourself, grovel, and perform demeaning acts of contrition. “Yes, person hauled into the jailhouse, I will get you water and a good meal! I’m here to help you make it easy on yourself.” “Sign the damned confession if you know what’s good for you, or I’ll see that you spend the rest of your life behind bars.” “Here’s your water.”

Not surprisingly, Bavo imbibed the poisonous tripe of Amand in his own life and future ministry:

Bavo considered that self-denial and penance are the means by which a penitent must punish sin in himself, and are also one part (I shudder to consider the other parts!) of the remedy which he (any penitent sinner) must head his perverse inclinations, and carnal passions. He therefore seemed to set no bounds to the ardour with which he laboured  to consummate the sacrifice of his penance by the baptism of his tears, the compunction and humiliation of his heart, the mortification of his will, and the rigour of his austerities.

Alas, the whole reason for the Good Cop/Bad Cop routine is precisely and invariably to manipulate the prisoner into saying, doing, and acting in the very ways that the police desire. It is not about concern for the person that is being manipulated. It is no different in a religion whose leaders proclaim God as abounding in mercy and requiring self-destruction of a human’s identity and will and sense of value as the price for enjoying said mercy.

Now, why is it that we cannot trust that the Prodigal Son, receiving grace and a good hearty meal, might just turn out to be one of those pay-it-forward types?! And, now that I think of it, wasn’t it the older brother–the one who felt that the prodigal hadn’t sufficiently groveled–whom Dad ended up chiding for his failure to rejoice?!